


Oh Captain

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Found Family, Living Together, M/M, Road Trips, but on accident
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:03:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4365839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Brendon.” He says Brendon’s name for the first time as he buckles his seatbelt. Brendon breaks into a grin that makes Ryan want to cry. “Where are we going?”</p>
<p>Brendon eases the car onto the road leading away from the house. “Wherever we want.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Captain

**Author's Note:**

> oh captain where are we going   
> i'm too far from home -   
> dandelion hands, oh captain

Ryan’s breaths come out in clouds of vapor, so he puts his winter coat over his pajamas. The bubbly material swishes with each movement he makes as he prepares breakfast. Toast is barely crunchy, the egg on top is sunnyside, and the tea is too hot. He glances out the window as he gets changed, pulling on his fuzziest sweater. He doesn’t bother styling his hair- he lives right on the beach, the wind is strong and would mess it up the second he steps out.The door clatters shut behind him as he waves to the olive skinned woman that fishes everyday, and walks quickly to Steve’s Grocers. The hours limp by, and Ryan day-dreams about somewhere else, even though this is the place he chose to live. And then his thoughts drift dangerously close to the past, which he won’t allow under any circumstance.His shift is over. He hurries to a cafe a few blocks down, and orders something sweet and chocolaty to cheer himself up. The barista smiles at him and he smiles back.

His house is wooden and musty and tiny. He sits on the deck outside and watches the ocean. The fishing woman is gone now. Tears leak out of the edges of his eyes from the wind, and only the wind. The sky is slowly changing colors, grey to a muted purple. It looms large around him and his lungs shrivel and ribs constrict and his head spins and then. He’s fine. He puts on pajamas and lays on soft sheets. He doesn’t really sleep, never does.

The next day is worse, the sky is baring down on him and he feels closer to Atlas than anyone else. The fishing woman isn’t there, the store he works at has no windows and he realizes it for the first time today. The cold bites at him, the air strangles him. The thoughts of home work their way past his filters and he can’t stop them, he remembers the constant, oppressive heat. Blurs of laughter, fighting, shaking. He opens his eyes and he’s at his house, and he can’t. take. it. anymore. The sea is so so cold but he needs to feel, lets the water soak his jeans and weigh down his sweater and he floats on his back, watches the clouds not move. Feels his teeth chatter. Stops feeling.

But.

But then there are hands, warm hands lifting him out of the ocean and sitting him onto the beach. He throws up water and stomach acid and feels a hand rubbing his back. His mind flashes to two years ago, to crying while Spencer held him close, and then he shuts his eyes and stops the memory. The stranger’s voice floods into his ears.

“Seriously man, your lips are blue. How long were you floating out there?” Ryan looks up and the stranger is like the sun, and he looks down again.

“I don’t know.” He chokes out, voice rough.

“You- you could’ve died, what were you even doing?” The boy’s voice is gentler this time, and Ryan thinks that this is the first time someone’s cared about him in a long time.

 

“I don’t know.” He repeats. “Let’s get you some water. I have waterbottles in my car, its-”

“My house is right there.” He doesn’t point, but starts in the direction of it. The stranger follows.Ryan shuts the door in his face and watches through the peephole as the stranger looks confused, and Ryan let’s himself think about how beautiful he is. He doesn’t want to ever see him again, but as the boy starts to walk away, he opens it back up.

“Hey. Come in.” A smile grows across the boy’s face.

“I’m Brendon.”

“Ryan.” He pours a glass of water and sips it. Talking feels weird, he’s been silent for so long- aside from answering customers at the grocery store. He’s not sure how much he likes it.

“I uh- thanks. I get- I get mixed up a lot and.” He stops. This is too much, talking is too much, the stra- Brendon- is too much.

“I think I need to be alone right now.” He see’s Brendon’s face crumple, just for a second like he’s hiding it.

“Okay. I’ll see you around town, I guess?” Brendon rubs his neck. “I’m just kinda driving around the country right now, but there’s a motel here and I might stay a few days-”

“Maybe.” Ryan cuts him off. Brendon says goodbye. Ryan doesn’t deserve to make friends, not after after what he did to his old ones. But there is a small dot of warmth in his chest that Brendon has left. Ryan almost sleeps well.

 

Brendon comes to the grocery store, and Ryan wants to hide under the counter.

“Hi.” Brendon smiles, and Ryan feels that spot of warmth grow a fraction of a centimeter. He scans Brendon’s items- boxes of cereal and poptarts and a case of water- but doesn’t speak.

“I’ll see you around.” He says as Brendon walks out the door. He doesn’t respond, but he visibly perks up.

Ryan goes home and thinks about Brendon, this stranger that had saved his life, this stranger he's talked to for a total of maybe three minutes, is making him feel something. The warmth he's left is growing a pinprick every time he talks to Brendon. He doesn't really sleep but when he manages to for an hour or so, he dreams of him, Spencer, and Brent trying to skateboard. He wakes up and wants to cry, is guilty and sorry and Jesus fuck he's an idiot.

Work is a blur as the ice in his chest starts to crack. He's near hyperventilating all day. He sees Brendon at the cafe, looks down at his shirt.

"I like Radiohead too." He tells Brendon, and leaves.

 

He hears it from a couple, gossiping in the produce section, that Brendon is leaving today. He runs from the shop, literally runs as the couple stand confused. The steps to his room creak as he sprints up them, and he throws open his closet, pulls out his suitcase. Anything he deems important enough is tossed in, mostly books. He's got this feeling going all around inside of him, like he can feel blood moving in his veins. There's a knock at the door and Brendon is there.

"I'm leaving today, and I know you don't know me at all but I was wondering if-"

Ryan hold his suitcase up as an answer, and Brendon beams. They walk to the car together and Ryan isn’t sure what he’s feeling right now. He’s not quite happy, but he’s feeling lighter than he has since- since he isn’t sure when.

“Brendon.” He says Brendon’s name for the first time as he buckles his seatbelt. Brendon breaks into a grin that makes Ryan want to cry. “Where are we going?”

Brendon eases the car onto the road leading away from the house. “Wherever we want.”

The sun is out but the sky is grey, and Ryan watches as the town comes into view, and then as it leaves. The road to get back onto mainland is long, and the sea crashes up against it. The car is silent, but it feels like they’re on the verge of talking. Ryan wants to break it, but he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if he should. Brendon breaks it for him.

“So, uh, Ryan.” He sounds hopeful and cautious.

“What’s up?”

“I’m not sure.” He says honestly. “This is the clearest my thoughts have been in awhile.” It’s true. This is the first time he’s felt completely lucid since leaving- since leaving Vegas.

“Amen to that.” Brendon says. “You said you liked Radiohead, right? I have a few of their CD’s in the glove box.” Ryan opens it and pushes aside a Queen and a Frank Sinatra album before finding Radiohead's’ _The Bends._

“Do you want to go to Chicago?” Ryan says suddenly, surprising himself.

“Sure.” Brendon says. “There’s a map under your seat. Direct Mr Navigator.”

“Aye aye.” They travel in silence broken occasionally by Brendon humming along or Ryan giving directions. Ryan is strangely comfortable in this car, traveling for an indefinite amount of time. He’s - it’s not like he’s magically Okay or something, but he feels at rest.

“If this is okay to ask, why Chicago?” Brendon says. They’ve been driving for almost two hours, the album they’re listening to is on its third playthrough.

“I used to talk to this guy online from there. I’ve always wanted to go, not necessary to meet him, but the way he described it sounded- better than where I was.” Ryan’s slowly getting used to talking again. He’s got a slight stutter, having trouble putting the words in his head into the air. “Turn onto I-95 here.”

“Some guy online? That isn’t creepy.” Brendon laughs.

“It’s- we sent each other song lyrics. It was nice, I guess. That someone out there felt like me.” He doesn’t mention the pictures they sent each other.

The sun is starting to set, and Brendon is starting to yawn.

“Do you want me to drive?” Ryan asks.

“Sure.” Brendon says, and pulls into 711 parking lot. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Cream and sugar.” Ryan says. Brendon goes into the store and Ryan switches to the driver's seat. His stomach feels heavy as he sits alone in the dark, the too bright lighting inside the store making his eyes blur. It was only a matter of time before the calmness wore off, and here it is. What is he doing? He can’t just go off with possibly the nicest and hottest person he’s ever met and expect everything to be good. Brendon- Brendon needs someone stable, needs someone who can keep up with him. Ryan can’t do that for him.

“Dude, look how fucking gross these are.” Brendon opens the door and sets a cup of coffee in the cupholder, and waves a box of something neon orange at Ryan.

“What is that?” Ryan says, trying to ignore the way his hands are shaking.

“I have no idea. I think it’s a box of fake cheese and grease.” He takes a gooey bite of it and gags.

“Want some?”

“I think I’ll pass.” Ryan already feels like throwing up. He doesn’t need 711 food to do it for him. He sips his coffee and checks the map again before starting to drive. Brendon falls asleep and Ryan breathes deeply, tries to calm himself down. At a red light he opens up the glove box, puts on the first CD he grabs. Radiohead was messing with his mind a little too much. _Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band_ comes out from the speakers. Ryan hasn’t really listened to it before, but he likes it.

He isn’t tired, he knows he can last the whole night. He tries to keep his mind on driving, away from the thoughts that manage to slip in at night. The way Spencer’s hair felt, the way that Brent only ate waffles if they had peanut butter- Ryan stops himself. His eyes are watering and he needs to pull it together before he messes up his driving. He tries to focus on the music playing instead. The coffee in his stomach is churning. The night passes by in flashes- turn here, keep going straight, stop yourself from puking or crying or something.

Brendon starts to wake up around 11 in the morning, mumbling under his breathe. It’s extremely cute and Ryan has to steel himself against it.

“Morning.” Brendon says and yawns. “Here, pull into that truck stop. You get some sleep.” Ryan decides it’s best not to tell Brendon he doesn’t sleep.

“I’ll fill up the gas.” Ryan says, and Brendon goes into the stop to get snacks. He fills up the tank and sits down in the passenger seat, waiting for Brendon to get back. It’s starting to snow a little, flurries sticking to the window but not the ground. Brendon comes back with a plastic bag on each wrist and, more confusingly, a punk looking kid who climbs into the backseat. Ryan raises his eyebrow.

“This is Frank.” Brendon says, and the kid waves. “He’s coming to Chicago with us. Frank, this is Ryan.”

“Hey.” Frank says, and hands Ryan a ten. “Here’s some for gas. It’s not much, but it’s the thought that counts, right?” He smiles and Ryan thinks he kinda looks like a pixie. It’s not the height, it’s the way the kid looks like he’s up to something- not in a bad way, in a mischievous way.

“Hi.” Ryan says, and closes his eyes, pretending to sleep. He isn’t sure how he feels about Frank. He never likes new people at first, Brendon was some weird glitch in his system. While he pretends to sleep, he listen to Frank and Brendon debate about music- ( _Dude, dude, there is no fucking_ way _the Ramones are as good the Clash_ ) and tries to keep himself from freaking out. At some point he does fall asleep, and he when he wakes up it’s dark. Frank is sleeping and Brendon is tapping along on the steering wheel.

“Have a good rest?” Brendon asks.

“Yeah.” Ryan says, and breaths in deeply. “So how’d find- how’d you find Frank?”

“He asked if I had any interest in picking up a hitchhiker, and then told me he wasn’t gonna bash my head in. I like him.”

“Sounds great.” Ryan looks out the window. Why did he agree to come? He should’ve just stayed home where everything was predictable and he knew what he would be dealing with. “When- when will we be getting to Chicago?”

“Like five hours I think? Around then.” Brendon says. The snow is starting to stick now. The window is cold under Ryan’s finger as he draws shapes- flocks of W’s and M’s flying south. There’s something low and soft playing on the radio.

“Brendon.” Ryan says. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Red.” He says. “What’s yours?”

“I can never decide.” Ryan feels that warmth in his chest that’s starting to become familiar around Brendon. “Favorite food?”

“Pizza, definitely.”

“I’ll agree with that.”

“Favorite place?” Brendon asks the question this time. “Mine’s Disney World.”

_Spencer’s house_ \- “I don’t- I don’t think I have one.” Ryan swallows. He feels himself starting to panic. “Favorite show?”

They go on and on asking each other questions. Ryan pushes away the more personal ones,and eventually Brendon sticks to more lighthearted ones. The sun is creeping up the horizon, and a sign welcomes them to Chicago.

“We made it.” Frank says, and Brendon and Ryan jump a little. He isn’t sure when Frank woke up. “I know a really good coffeehouse a few blocks away. Well, I think it’s good. Bob told me about it, and I trust him.”

“Bob?” Brendon asks.

“My friend- he’s who I’m meeting here. Oh, get off at the next exit.” Frank’s directions are haphazard, but they make it. The coffeehouse is small and cozy and Ryan is glad Frank’s friend told him about. There are few enough people inside that Ryan can feel almost comfortable with, and there’s a sitting area that’s almost cut off from everyone. He settles into an armchair and holds his coffee close to him as Frank borrows Brendon’s phone while Brendon waits for his super complicated mocha caramel whip thing to be finished.

“Bob, Bob, you motherfucker, come to Jon’s Coffee. Yes, I’m there. Yes, the band broke up mid tour again. Yes, I’m gonna join another one. And yes, I’m going to be living with you until I do. No, fuck you. You know you love me. Bye.” Frank gives Brendon his phone back and starts to bounce in his seat a little.

“You were in a band?” Ryan asks, trying to stop himself from feeling stupid for starting the conversation.

“Bands, plural. There was Pency Prep, Give Up the Ghost, I Am A Graveyard, The Lovecats… I’ve been in a lot of bands.” Frank says, making a gesture like ‘what can you do?’.

“Impressive.” Brendon says. Ryan does not think about his old dreams of being in a band, does not think about the Summer League or Pet Salamander at all. His fingertips feel numb and he closes his eyes, tries not to cry. There’s a lingering silence as Frank waits for his friend, Brendon sits next to him, and Ryan tries to hold himself together. He feels like he’s breaking apart as he actually lets himself think about Spencer and Brent and doesn’t know why he’s doing this to himself, why he’s making himself go through this. His eyes are squeezed shut and his knuckles are white on his coffee mug. He barely hears when Frank stands up and yells “Bob Bryar!” Ryan feels a warm hand and his shoulder, looks over at Brendon.

“You okay?”

“Headache.” It’s not completely a lie. Frank drags Bob over to the table- Bob is tall and blonde and looks at Frank with a mix of exasperation and admiration.

“You promised me a jam session.” Frank says, pointing at Brendon. Ryan figures that promise was made when he was asleep.

“Let’s do it man!” Brendon says. Ryan thinks that this is the worst direction the day could be going.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine lets go.” The words come out too fast and Ryan cringes a little, still not completely good with talking. They walk behind Frank and Bob, who are having some sort of shoving match on the sidewalk.

“Did you just invite strangers to my house?” Bob sighs.

“They aren’t strangers. They’re cool.” Frank says.

“We can just follow behind Bob.” This time, Ryan sits in the backseat and Frank sits in the passenger. Ryan hunches over, rubbing at his temples. His head is buzzing, making him feel flighty and unfocused. He doesn’t even realize the car is moving until they park again, and Brendon gives him another worried look. He shrugs it off, and follows the three up the stairs into an apartment complex.

Things- things are getting bad again, and Ryan is angry that they are, defeated that they are. Bob offers him Advil but he doesn’t take it. It wouldn’t help.

The apartment is really neat- Bob makes them take their shoes off at the door and put them on a little mat. Frank pulls out a guitar that Ryan didn’t even realize he had, and Bob disappears and comes back with another for Brendon, saying that someone named Patrick would probably mind, but they can deal with that later. Ryan isn’t paying attention to them, can’t pay attention to them when he keeps feeling flashes of heat and Spencer’s couch, keeps hearing shitty Blink 182 covers and and and Ryan’s dad yelling on the phone and this is bad this is dangerous he needs to get a hold of himself **now**.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom.” He tells Bob. It isn’t hard to find it, and when he does he locks the door and sits down against the sink. He stands up and splashes water in his face, takes deep breaths and counts one two three four five six seven inhale, one two three four five six seven exhale. He starts to calm down, can breathe again.

He walks back into the living room, tries to listen as Frank plays something on the guitar, grinning, and Brendon sings. They both are really good. They switch songs quickly, Frank strumming the chorus of a Smith’s song and then Brendon changes it, starts belting out Toxic.

“Alright dude, you beat me.” Frank says. Brendon grins at him.

“We can’t all be the number one Britney fan.” Ryan hears the screen door open first, an irritated voice complaining about the cold, and one that answers, saying “You shouldn’t have moved to Chicago then.”Ryan’s head snaps up at the voice, his fingertips going numb. It’s not possible. The first person to come through the door is short and blonde,

“Wow, no one told me about the party in my living room.” Bob casts a blaming glance at Frank, and Ryan looks up, heart pounding. The second person is- is- is

“What. The. _Fuck?”_ Spencer says, and Ryan just stares, ears buzzing.“Ryan?”

“You know him?” Frank asks.

_“Know him?”_ Spencer repeats. _“Know him?”_

“Spencer.” Ryan tries to say, but the words get all caught up in his throat. Everyone is silent, looking at either him or Spencer, who looks thinner and taller and more worn down than Ryan’s ever seen him. He clears his throat, tries again. “Spencer, you- you aren’t in Vegas.”

“No shit, dumbass. And neither are you, seeing as you just fucking took off two summers ago.”

“I had too.” Ryan says, eyes burning with the effort of holding back tears.

“Had too? What, did somebody hold a fucking gun to your head and say ‘Ryan, leave everyone right now without saying goodbye and never talk to them again’?” Spencer is angry, angrier than Ryan’s ever seen. He has every right to be.

“I got kicked out Spence.” Ryan’s voice is flat. “I got kicked out because I wanted to go to college for writing, and I knew you’d be going away to college too, and you would make new friends and forgot about me and why prolong it? So I left.”

“Ryan, you- no- Ryan. I would never, never, leave you.” Spencer walks toward him, dropping the grocery bags he was carrying, and wraps his arms around Ryan. And Ryan feels himself crumbling, breaking down walls he’s been trying to keep up since he left. Spencer’s crying too, tears soaking Ryan’s hair.

“I’m sorry Spence, I’m sorry. He was screaming at me and throwing things and I- I didn’t know what to do.” He manages to choke out. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Spencer says, sounding small. “And don’t you ever forget it, you dumbass.” He pulls away. “I’m still fucking pissed at you.”

“You should be.” Ryan mumbles.

“Where did you even go?” Spencer asks, pulls Ryan’s hands into his own.

“Bailey Island. In Maine. It was really cold.” “Of course. Where else would you go but the most obscure place ever?” Spencer’s tone is carefully mocking, like he’s not sure how to act. Ryan shrugs. Brendon, Frank, Bob, and whoever Spencer had come in with aren’t in the room anymore.

“Yeah.” Ryan says. Spencer gets up from next to him on the couch, starts putting groceries away.

“You gonna help me or what?” He calls. Ryan smiles, really, genuinely smiles. They’ll be okay, he thinks, hopes with every ounce of his body.


End file.
